


they say i’m great at first, but then the magic fades

by cori_the_bloody



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Gen, One Shot, Post-Season/Series 03, SO, That involves, Truth or Dare, and, basically an imagined setup to a rebecca being a better friend plot, that season 4 so desperately needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:08:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cori_the_bloody/pseuds/cori_the_bloody
Summary: At first, Rebecca had assumed the nightmares were a result of spending a handful of nights in jail. Drafty concrete boxes and lullabies comprised of guards’ clomping boots and over a dozen women tossing and turning don’t exactly do wonders for a girl’s insomnia, after all.But a couple days back in the comfort of her own bed and the nightmares haven’t stopped. She’s starting to wonder if they ever will.





	they say i’m great at first, but then the magic fades

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Bethany! Your ability to hone in on word choices I felt uncertain about and offer the exact perfect alternative is superhuman. <3
> 
> I'll be getting back to work on fake dating now. It's just that writing fluffy gurlgroup one-shots relaxes me/cures my writer's block/feels right.

The girls are walking ahead. Rebecca can see them—see the streaks in Heather’s hair like a flashing beacon and Valencia’s neck sliding as fluid as a snake as she reacts to something being said and the glint of Paula’s necklace as it catches the light just so—but they can’t see her.

Or else they’d slow down and let her catch up, she’s sure of it.

_Guys_ , she tries to call out, but her vocal cords tighten, resisting her.

She swallows and tries again: _Valencia?_

Her throat constricts even tighter.

_Heather, please._

She’s suffocating now, choking on words unsaid.

_I just wanted peace_ , she tries to tell them anyway. _For all of us._

Paula turns back, and Rebecca feels a moment of relief so pointed, it’s a needle thrust all the way through her heart.

But Paula laughs, mocking, and makes the whole world go dark with a snap of her fingers.

###

“You should try guided meditation,” Valencia says the next morning at Sugar Face. Rebecca knows they don’t really have the time to meet here before work, but they’ve been humoring her the last couple days. All part of their desperation to return to some semblance of normal like nothing happened. “And I could make you some jasmine candles.”

“Yeah, because what we really need is for her to forget to blow out a bunch of candles and then burn down our house,” Heather says, and Valencia knocks into her, shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Fine, what do you suggest?”

“Well, I have been doing some reading on dimethyltryptamine and lucid dreaming,” Heather says. “There’s some literature that suggests you can control your dreams if you keep a dream journal. Something to do with raising your awareness.”

Valencia raises her eyebrows, intrigued. “Really?”

“I mean, it’s all speculative, but yeah. Power of the human mind.”

“I don’t want to be more aware of my dreams. I just wanna stop having them,” Rebecca says under her breath.

At first, she’d assumed the nightmares were a result of spending a handful of nights in jail. Drafty concrete boxes and lullabies comprised of guards’ clomping boots and over a dozen women tossing and turning don’t exactly do wonders for a girl’s insomnia, after all.

But a couple days back in the comfort of her own bed and the nightmares haven’t stopped. She’s starting to wonder if they ever will.

“Awareness could help you change the whole thing: outcomes, settings,” Heather says, still using her professor voice.

Rebecca takes a sip of coffee, trying to focus. “And how long would it take me to train my brain into obeying me? We don’t exactly have the greatest track record, you know.”

“The findings aren’t really conclusive.”

“Science concerning the human mind isn’t conclusive?” Rebecca says. “Shocking.”

Heather _hmm_ s.

“I can spend the night with you,” Paula offers for the millionth time since they’d brought Rebecca back home.

And, as it has every time, Rebecca’s stomach gives a violent lurch in response.

“It’ll be fine, guys,” she tells them, avoiding Paula’s searching eyes. “It probably just needs to run its course.”

Three worried faces stare back at her, as doubtful as she feels.

###

A thud sends Rebecca bolting upright in bed, the noise reverberating through her skull. Rattling her brain.

“Heather?” she asks the pitch darkness. “Is that you?”

The house offers up heaps of suffocating silence in response.

“Okay,” Rebecca says. “This is fine. You’re fine. That was probably just Hector using the bathroom. A midnight pee. No need to disrupt the man during such a sacred time.”

Having convinced herself, Rebecca tries to slide back down between her sheets, but her limbs exert a peculiar resistance.

That’s when she hears it again: the thud. It sounds closer this time, close enough for Rebecca to make out the distinctness of flesh meeting flesh.

“Maybe Heather and Hector are having sex. That’s totally normal. Sex at…” She trails off, turning her head to check her alarm clock. Except…

Her eyes should have adjusted to the limited light by now, but she can’t make out anything, not even her own hands held in front of her face.

Over the whoosh of her escalating breathing, she hears the thud again, followed by a moan of pain.

“Valencia?” Rebecca asks, straining to recognize the person making the noise. Her fearful voice only slips through the boundless night, though—away, away, away. She raises it when she speaks again, pushing back against the heaviness of the dark. “Knock twice if you’re alright! Because I really don’t want to get out of this bed if I don’t have to, so just please be okay. Okay? Please.”

The shot goes off like a hand grenade inside her head.

###

When Rebecca sits up this time, she’s surrounded by the comforting trinkets and furniture of her room, illuminated by the muted moonlight floating in through the windows.

She sits there for a moment, drinking in Ruth Gator Ginsburg and the small Slumbered figurines on her chest and her comforter and her dirty clothes all over the floor and her _Welcome to West Covina_ sign.

Once her breathing slows and the uncomfortable crusty feeling of her sweaty forehead gets to be too much, she slides out of bed and goes to wash her face.

She’s in the middle of boiling the kettle for an impulse cup of chamomile tea when the front door swings open with a gust of wind.

“God, Heather!” Rebecca digs her nails into her chest around her racing heart. “It’s like three in the morning. What are you doing?”

“Santa Ana Winds-related delivery crisis,” she says curtly, kicking off her shoes. She stoops to get them, and then pauses there in the entryway, tired eyes taking in Rebecca. “Another nightmare?”

Rebecca huffs as she removes the whistling kettle from the burner. “Wish my brain would get the memo that we’re allies now.” She jabs at her own temple. “You’re supposed to be working with me, not against me.”

Heather gives a wry chuckle. “Well, if anyone can charm an unwilling ally into submission, it’s you.”

Tipping her head back and forth and frowning with touched pleasure, Rebecca says, “Thank you, Heather.”

“Goodnight,” Heather says with an eye roll and a suppressed grin. She slides forward off the wall and starts for her bedroom, but she only takes a couple steps before stopping in her tracks and pointing. “What’s that?”

Rebecca whips around, a jolt of adrenaline shooting out into her bloodstream, but she doesn’t see anything. “What’s what?”

“Is that the giant pile of dishes I asked you to wash today?”

Rebecca cringes. “I mean _technically_ you asked if either Hector or I could take care of them.”

“Unbelievable. I bet you didn’t wash the towels or feed Estrella, either.”

“I’ve—” Rebecca starts to say.

“Had a lot going on lately?” Heather guesses.

Rebecca winces at the fury in her voice.

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” Heather holds her gaze for a second, eyes gleaming in the darkness, before she turns away. “Good luck with the tea.”

Rebecca frowns into her mug as Heather’s bedroom door falls softly shut.

In her heart, she feels the slam.

###

“I think Heather’s mad at me,” Rebecca says the next morning after Heather leaves for work with a nod of acknowledgement for Valencia and nothing as much as a passing glance for Rebecca.

“Heather’s always mad at you,” Valencia says, accepting the mug of coffee Rebecca slides across the islet.

She pauses in the pouring of her own. “She is?”

Valencia waves off the question as if it’s nothing. “You two squabble more than me and Elena when we shared a room.”

Rebecca blinks.

“Elena?” Valencia says again. “My little sister?”

“Right,” Rebecca says after a second. “Right. Black hair, speaks Spanish.”

“Oh, my god.”

Rebecca feels a defensive flush working its way up her neck. “She likes sports! She plays—I wanna say—soccer…?”

“Softball,” Valencia corrects, clearly unimpressed. “You’ve come with me to multiple games.”

“Are you sure? That doesn’t sound like something I’d agree to.”

Valencia looks for a second like she’s trying to fight it, but ends up snorting in amusement.

Rebecca grins at her.

Shaking her head, Valencia pulls out her phone and asks as she studies the screen, “What am I doing here?”

“Right, yes,” Rebecca says, straightening up. “I wanna try the guided meditation thing you were talking about.”

Valencia looks up, one perfect eyebrow arched. “That’s why you called me over first thing in the morning?”

“Yes?” Rebecca says, and it comes out sounding like a question.

“I have a ton of appointments today,” Valencia says testily.

“Okay, buuuuut,” Rebecca says, bounding around the islet as Valencia starts to slide off her stool and grabbing hold of both her shoulders. “It’s been so long since we’ve hung out one-on-one, and I thought we could, you know, do that.”

Valencia frowns. “You’ve been in prison.”

“Yeah, I know that, but it goes back to way before that.”

“Well, business has been picking up,” Valencia says dismissively, trying to brush past. “Speaking of, I have to get going.”

“I could come with you!” Rebecca says, aware that her desperation to not spend another day alone in the house is tipping over into mania.

“Hey, Cookie,” Paula says as she lets herself in the front door. “I got your mail for you. Oh, hi, Valencia.”

Valencia smiles at her in greeting and then looks back at Rebecca. “Sorry, hon,” she says, not sounding all that sorry, “no can do. We’ll meet up later, though, ‘kay? I’ll bring my best candles.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rebecca says, letting her go. She suddenly feels a bit nauseated.

“Paula,” Valencia says with a nod as she floats out the door.

“Mail,” Paula repeats once the door is closed behind her, holding up the stack for Rebecca to see.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Rebecca asks.

Paula takes Valencia’s abandoned place at the counter, sniffing the untouched coffee there before taking a sip. “Right, and who’s gonna write me up for being late? Darryl’s on paternity leave, Nathaniel’s been flitting in and out to get files to work from home because he’s a big pouty baby, and—even if you were there to take up your mantle as co-boss—would you really reprimand me for being late?”

Rebecca slumps. “Nathaniel’s still upset, huh?”

Paula shrugs, carefully nonchalant. “That’s not why I’m here.” She slides the mail across the countertop. “Take a look at this.”

The envelope on top bears the logo of the American Bar Association.

“Oh,” Rebecca says, a dizzy spell knocking the room off its axis.

“Open it!” Paula says, clapping. “I wanna know when your hearing is.”

“Right.”

Truthfully, Rebecca had forgotten almost entirely about life outside of making the nightmares go away, but especially about the hoops she’d be made to jump through before she’d be cleared to practice again.

Another unpleasant side-effect of impulsively sending yourself to prison for the poetry of it all.

“Oh, you know it’s just a formality,” Paula’s saying, but Rebecca’s having trouble hearing her over the ringing in her ears. “There’s no way a group of stuffy old bureaucratic white men can keep Bunch and Proctor from taking on justice, one zoning motion at a time.”

“You know what?” Rebecca says a touch too loud, causing Paula to startle. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I totally forgot, but I have an appointment with Dr. Akopian today,” she lies, “So. I should, uh, I should be getting dressed.”

“Oh.” Paula shoots her a quizzical look, but stands from her seat. “Okay.”

“I’ll, um, I’ll text you the date,” Rebecca says, whapping the envelope against her palm.

“Sure,” Paula says, allowing herself to be ushered toward the door. She pauses before passing through, though. “Are you okay, Cookie?”

Rebecca averts her eyes, not wanting Paula to see the way the old nickname has made her teary all of a sudden. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay,” Paula says, voice heavy with skepticism.

“Wait!” Rebecca grabs her arm as she goes to leave, feeling a rotten tug somewhere deep in her chest. “I’ve just been, well, really fucking tired. All the not-sleeping has been messing with my mood. I promise I’ll go back to normal soon.”

“Oh, honey.” Paula grabs her face in both hands, and Rebecca closes her eyes, soaking in the warmth of her palms. “I don’t think we’ve ever established what normal is for us, so, y’know, who cares about that?”

Rebecca huffs out a breathy laugh, opening her eyes. “Maybe we should. Establish some kind of norm.”

Paula winks at her and steps out onto the porch. “We’ll worry about that later. Have a good session.”

It’s the closest they’ve felt to pre-Trent-debacle Rebecca and Paula in ages, and Rebecca can almost convince herself that everything’s fine.

###

“Close your eyes and take a deep breath in through your nose.”

Rebecca does as she’s told, sinking into her mattress as she lets her breath out slowly through pursed lips.

“Good,” Valencia says from her yoga mat. She’d had to clear a spot among Rebecca’s discarded clothes to roll it out on the floor.

Rebecca listens as she takes a deep breath of her own. A moment later, gentle chimes fill the room.

Rebecca snorts. “Did you bring your own wind chime, too?”

“I have an app.”

“Really?” Rebecca asks, cracking one eye open.

“Now,” Valencia says sharply, and Rebecca closes her eye again, mentally shaking off her feelings of ridiculousness.

“I’m good,” she says. “I’m ready.”

“Good. Keep taking deep breaths. In through your nose,” Valencia says, her voice taking on a soothing monotone. “Out through your mouth.”

Rebecca moves her hands to her stomach—palms splayed wide—and feels as her body expands and contracts with each breath.

“Now I want you to imagine the air as something more, an entity with vitality. Your very spirit.”

“That’s some lively air,” Rebecca says, unable to help her snicker.

“You are supposed to be silent.”

“Sorry.”

“What you’re breathing in,” Valencia continues, “is full of restorative energy. Hold it in your lungs. Let it expand to fill them completely.”

Rebecca’s head starts to swim as she hangs onto the breath until Valencia speaks again.

“Now exhale, and let out all the stress you’ve been holding onto. Feel yourself letting go of negative thoughts. They no longer have power over you; not even when you’re sleeping.”

Rebecca lets go of the breath, imagining it snaking past her lips like a long, murky black stream.

“Breathe in the revitalizing energy. Exhale the stress.” Valencia keeps up this mantra, but each time she speaks she sounds further and further away.

Rebecca continues to follow the instructions even as Valencia’s voice floats away entirely, leaving her with no more guidance than the whoosh of her own breathing in her ears.

###

When she wakes up, she can still hear the chimes.

Annoyed that Valencia hasn’t turned them off yet, Rebecca sits up and shifts to the edge of her mattress.

Valencia’s yoga mat is still on the floor—the corner of it folded in over itself, and she’s not sure why that sends the hair at the back of her neck standing on end. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that Valencia herself is nowhere to be found.

“Hello?” Rebecca asks the empty house, and she’s hit with a wave of déjà vu so intense, it nearly knocks her back down onto the bed.

She breathes a sigh of relief when Heather’s voice bounces back to her. “Rebecca?”

“We’re over here,” Valencia adds.

Trying to follow the sound even though it seems to be pressing in on her from all directions, Rebecca walks over to the patio doors. She pulls back the curtain to look for her friends but is greeted by white light so absolute, it makes her teeth ache just to look at it.

“Heather?” Rebecca asks, wrenching open the door. “Valencia?”

“I’ve got them over here, silly.”

Rebecca glances around the lobby of her office building, fighting off a sudden bout of vertigo as she looks for Paula.

“Where?”

“You won’t find anything here,” Paula says, clucking her tongue.

Rebecca’s not sure what makes her stomach clench: Paula’s disapproval or the fact that she’d known that all along. Why does it always take someone else telling her what she wants to make her believe it?

“What about you?” Rebecca asks, not certain how she means it.

“You haven’t found me here yet, either,” Paula says, making the decision for her.

Frowning, she takes one last look around the lobby and then presses the button for the elevator. When it arrives, she steps inside, finding herself in the Whitefeather offices. Her eyes zero in on Heather and Valencia playing patty cake in the conference room.

In the background, she hears the steady thump of a ball making contact with a tightly strung net.

She freezes in place, torn.

“Rebecca,” Heather calls, pausing the game to wave her over.

Rebecca smiles, relieved the decision’s been made for her, and walks through the conference room door.

“Can I join?” she asks as soon as she steps out onto the roof of the building.

“Say please,” Valencia says.

“Please,” she says, drawing out the word.

Heather frowns. “It’s not really a three-person game.”

“So let’s do something else.”

Neither of them gets the chance to respond before something rushes past Rebecca, pushing them both over the edge and out of Rebecca’s sight. With a panicked cry, she rushes to look over the side of the building.

What she finds isn’t Heather or Valencia, but two versions of herself: one with short, bouncy curls and the other with a dark ponytail.

A click from behind her.

Rebecca jumps and whirls around. Paula’s pointing a gun right at her heart.

###

Her scream carries her out of the dream and back into her bedroom. When she finally quiets, there are no chimes.

Just the sound of her rapidly beating heart in her ears.

“Are you getting abducted in here?” Heather’s voice is groggy…and possibly a little hopeful. “‘Cause if you are, I can finally run my Craigslist ad for a new roomie.”

Rebecca rests her palm against her chest and tries to take a deep breath. It seems nearly impossible without Valencia’s stern, guiding voice.

“Dude, you in there?”

“Go away, Heather.”

“Fine.” She’s quiet for a second before adding, “But, like, if you haven’t already, it might be time to book an extra appointment with your therapist.”

Rebecca rolls over onto her side, frowning at the patio doors. “I know.”

###

“It’s completely normal to have vivid nightmares after suffering through a traumatic event,” Dr. Akopian says after listening as Rebecca recounts the major events of the past week.

“That’s just the thing,” Rebecca says, curling in on herself and pressing her palms into her forehead. “These dreams have nothing to do with me spending a couple nights in prison. Or pushing a person off a building.”

“Nothing?” Dr. Akopian prods gently.

Rebecca rolls her eyes. “Well, when you say it like that, it makes me not very sure.”

“Dreams are tricky. They’re often about many things at once since our lives don’t break down neatly into straightforward symbols or allegories.”

“So, basically what you’re saying is, there’s no way to know what’s causing me to have nightmares because it could be anything or everything.”

“What I’m saying…” Dr. Akopian pauses meaningfully, “…is that I can’t be the one to decide what any of it means to you.”

“What do I even pay you for, again?”

“But,” Dr. Akopian says, fondly exasperated. “I can help you parse through everything you’ve been feeling.”

“That all sounds very abstract.”

Dr. Akopian raises her eyebrows. “Honey, where have you been the last couple years? That’s everything we do here.”

Rebecca laughs.

###

“I just need to find the right time to tell her.”

Rebecca can just make out voices inside over the howling of the wind as she fumbles with her keys.

“I mean, I know she’s not, like, an amazing listener, but still. I think it probably says more about your own feelings that you haven’t made this news yet, you know?”

“Well—”

Heather and Valencia—both in tree pose in the living room—fall silent when Rebecca slams the front door closed behind her.

“I didn’t know you were coming over today,” Rebecca says to Valencia, trying to find it within herself to be excited. Draining therapy sessions don’t really leave her in the mood for socializing, but she still feels bad that all her time spent with Valencia yesterday had been about her nightmares.

With a sigh, she throws her purse on the ground, toes off her shoes, and then falls face-first into the couch cushions.

“Heather told me the meditation didn’t work,” Valencia says, changing her pose with deliberate movements.

“Yeah,” Rebecca agrees, watching as Heather follows suit. “You know, I’ve seen you do more yoga after you stopped being an instructor. Kind of ironic, huh?”

“It turns out it’s much more relaxing when it’s not your entire livelihood,” Valencia says.

Rebecca frowns thoughtfully.

“How was therapy?” Heather asks.

Her frown deepens.

“So I can expect to be woken up at four in the morning by more screaming?” Heather guesses. “Great.”

Rebecca’s about to respond when the front door crashes open on a particularly brutal gust of wind.

“It is unforgiving out there,” Paula says, struggling to close the door behind her.

Rebecca’s heart gives an anxious little jolt at the word choice, but she shakes it off.

“Was there a scheduled hang I was unaware of?” she asks. “Or…forgot about,” she adds off Heather’s sideways glance.

Paula waves her off, though. “Scott has some kind of performance in Monrovia, and who knows what Tommy or Brendan are up to.”

“And so you just decided to come over?” Rebecca asks, and then clears her throat over the lump that’s formed there.

“What better way to spend my free time than with my girls?”

With timing so eerily perfect Rebecca feels like the Winds might be playing with her life once more, another gust rips through the house and all the lights extinguish. The hum of the refrigerator sputters then dies, leaving them in total quiet.

Rebecca whimpers. It all feels a bit too much like her dreams.

“Was it something I said?” Paula asks.

Rebecca musters up a breathless laugh.

“Okay, yup,” Heather says, her face illuminated by her phone screen. “There are reported outages throughout LA County and a weather advisory in effect. They’re telling people to stay inside for the next few hours.” She frowns. “I hope Hector made it to Whijo’s. He hasn’t texted.”

“Guys,” Valencia says, sounding strangely excited considering the circumstances. As Rebecca’s eyes adjust to the power outage, she can just make out Valencia’s toothy grin. “You know what this means?”

They all blink at her.

“We’re having a sleepover!”

###

After significant others are contacted and confirmed safe—Rebecca considers sending Nathaniel a text to feel like she has _someone_ but decides she’s not up for unpacking all the implications of that with him—it doesn’t take them long to break out the rosé.

“Now this is something none of my grade school sleepovers had,” Rebecca says, making her way back into the living room, where Heather gathered and lit a meager cluster of candles while on the phone with Hector.

“Speak for yourself,” Paula says. “You’ve met my dad. Any sleepovers at the O’Brien house included an all-access pass to Bob’s liquor cabinet.”

Rebecca flops belly-down onto the couch once more. “Bob _is_ pretty generous with his alcohol.”

Apparently unsure how to respond to that, Paula simply frowns with distaste and settles with her back against the couch, legs stretched out in front of her.

Valencia is the last to join them, folding herself into a cross-legged sit next to Heather. After a beat of silence, she nods at Rebecca. “Truth or dare.”

Rebecca cocks her head.

“Strange choice,” Heather comments.

“What? I’ve never had a chance to play with a group of girls whose lives I wasn’t invested in ruining. I’m curious how that changes things.”

Heather snorts at that.

“Huh.”

They all look at Paula, who’s frowning thoughtfully.

“Well, when you put it like that, neither have I,” she says.

Heather shrugs. “Guess we’re doing this.”

All eyes turn to Rebecca.

“What’s it gonna be?” Valencia prompts.

“Uh,” Rebecca swallows hard and then, coward that she is, says, “Dare.”

“I dare you…” Valencia trails off to survey the room, considering. “…To do a cartwheel without kicking anything.”

Heather scoffs. “Softie.”

“And you can’t move anything already in the room, either,” Valencia adds hastily.

“You don’t think I can do a cartwheel, do you?” Rebecca asks her, pushing up off the couch.

Valencia arches an eyebrow at her. “Guess we’ll see.”

Rebecca takes a second to consider the space then walks behind the sofa and does one flawless cartwheel in the space between it and the doors.

“Take that, teeny yogini,” Rebecca says, tugging her shirt back down over her exposed tummy.

“Impressive,” Valencia allows. Paula claps.

When Rebecca sits down, this time it’s on the ground with the rest of the girls. “Heather,” she says after taking a sip of her wine. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Heather says immediately, like she’d known Rebecca was going to pick her and wanted to be prepared.

“I dare you to lick the spoon you left in our sink this morning.”

Heather stares her down, wordlessly unimpressed.

Rebecca waggles her eyebrows. “Note that’s the only dish in the sink right now.”

Heather flips her the bird and then pushes to her feet. When she gets to the kitchen, she holds up the spoon for all of them to see, and then takes a big lick.

She frowns all the way back to her seat, taking a couple gulps of wine once she’s situated. “Rebecca, truth or dare.”

She says it with a challenge in her voice and just enough aggression that Rebecca finds herself gulping. “Truth?”

“Do you really think doing one of the communal chores after I yelled at you about it counts as a gesture of goodwill?”

Rebecca squints, thinking about it for a moment. “I mean, kinda.”

“Oh, my god.”

“What about half of one?” she tries to bargain, but Heather shakes her head. “A quarter?”

“It shouldn’t have to be a negotiation!”

“I know! I know, and I’m sorry.”

Heather hums, the implication that she’ll believe it when she sees it hanging heavily between them.

A promise that she’ll do better—that she’s working on it, she is—nearly bubbles up out of her, but she knows that, like the sorries, Heather’s heard it all before. Only time will really prove that she cares about fixing things, she knows that.

Sheepishly, she glances at Paula and Valencia.

“Um,” she says, breaking the thick tension. “Valencia, truth or dare?”

Valencia considers it like there’s a right and wrong answer. Finally, she says, “truth.”

With the pall of her therapy session still hanging over her, a question slips out before she’s even consciously formed it: “Did you really have stuff to do yesterday or are you avoiding me?”

Valencia sucks in a breath. “I had stuff to do. But,” she adds determinedly, “I’m also kinda avoiding you.”

Rebecca swallows that alongside a swig of rosé. “Why?”

“You only get one question per round,” she says sagely, and then turns to Paula. “Truth or dare?”

Paula blinks, seemingly so wrapped up in the drama she’d forgotten they’d been playing a game. “Dare.”

“I dare you to chug the rest of your glass.”

“My kind of dare,” Paula says, holding it up in toast to Valencia before drinking down the wine like it’s nothing. “Rebecca, truth or dare?”

Rebecca frowns down at the ground. She’d been expecting this but, even still, she’s not sure which option feels safest.

“Dare,” she decides.

“I dare you to open your letter from the Bar.”

It takes her a second to process that, feeling the acid in her stomach burn as she does. For a moment, she imagines the satisfaction of retrieving the letter and holding it in one of the candles until it’s nothing but smoke and ash. She exhales the destructive impulse, though, and flops onto her side so she can grab at her purse.

“Happy?” she asks, ripping out the letterhead and thrusting it at Paula.

Heather jerks back her head in surprise. “Whoa.”

“Why are you trying so hard not to think about this?” Paula asks, squinting at her.

“You can’t have a dare and a truth all in one round,” Rebecca says, and then turns to Valencia, her face still flushed with agitation. “Your turn again.”

Valencia looks like she’s considering asking for a dare just to spite Rebecca, but she rolls back her shoulders and then looks her square in the eyes. “Truth.”

“Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m mad, okay?” Valencia says, and suddenly there are tears sparkling in her eyes.

“At me?”

Valencia shoots her a look that clearly says _duh_.

“Do I get to ask why?”

With a shaky inhale, Valencia glances over at Heather, who’s looking between the two of them like she knows the basic plot but can’t figure out how they’re gonna play it.

“I guess I just don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?” Rebecca asks, glancing around the group. Paula seems just as confused as her.

“Why did you need to go to jail for penance or whatever when we’re all out here?”

“…Who’s out here?” Rebecca asks, though she doesn’t really need to this time. She thinks she finally gets it.

“The people you hurt the most—the people you keep hurting when you pretend like you fixed everything by spending a couple nights in a cell. Like that does any of us any good.”

“I don’t think I fixed everything,” Rebecca says, tentatively reaching out and sighing when Valencia offers her hand up without hesitation. “Honestly, I think that’s what the nightmares have been mostly about. Everything I need to do to actually make things right. All the people I need to have uncomfortable conversations with.”

“Like this one?” Heather asks, offering her a tiny grin.

Rebecca gives her one back, squeezing Valencia’s hand at the same time. “Exactly like this one. This is, like, the most important one, though. You guys know I love you, right?”

“Gets a little hazy at times,” Heather says, a hint of playfulness in her tone.

“We love you, too, Cookie,” Paula says.

Valencia squeezes her hand.

Rebecca feels relief rising up inside her, but she can’t quite let herself sink into it. Not until…

“Hey, Paula. Truth,”—she pauses meaningfully, her eyes boring into her best friend—“or dare?”

Paula raises her eyebrows. “Truth, I guess.”

“Did you stop loving me after I forced you to help me with Trent?”

“What? Honey, no!”

“You were so mad, though,” Rebecca says, feeling everything she’d been holding in suddenly gushing out of her, “and you wouldn’t return any of my calls and I thought I screwed things up forever. I thought it was finally the last straw, Paula, and you would never talk to me again.”

Everyone in the room holds their breath, watching Paula as she takes that in.

“I…I was thinking about it,” Paula admits, and Rebecca wilts. “But that was just heat-of-the-moment madness.”

“What changed?” Rebecca asks, voice small.

Paula reaches out and tucks some hair behind Rebecca’s ear. “We have too much history. Like I’m just gonna walk away from that? You’re my Cookie.”

Rebecca leans into the touch. “You have to know, I was desperate and scared when I told you Trent had stuff on you. I—”

“You don’t have to explain it,” Paula rushes to say.

“Okay.”

“And I’m sorry, too,” Paula says. “I…I stalked a potential egg donor.”

“Okay,” Heather says, holding up her hands. “What?”

“Paula,” Valencia admonishes.

“Wh-when?” is all Rebecca can think to ask.

“Darryl had just started looking and I wanted to help him out, but it all got way out of hand and I almost committed Darryl to a lifetime of being blackmailed for a stupid little egg.”

Rebecca just gapes at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was embarrassed. I wasn’t really thinking about it at the time, but yeah. I’m pretty sure that has something to do with how hard I was on you. It was just another way for me to take out my frustration at myself on you.”

“We should really stop doing that to each other,” Rebecca says.

“Agreed.”

“God,” Heather says, shaking her head. “This group is super dysfunctional.”

“You know what they say,” Rebecca says, grinning. “A group is only as sane as its leader.”

“Either you’re implying you’re the leader,” Heather says, “or that none of us are really sane and, in either case, I say: _pfft_.”

“I might be moving to New York,” Valencia blurts out.

“You’re leaving?” Rebecca asks after allowing a moment for the shock to subside.

“ _Might_ be leaving.”

“When?” Paula asks.

“If I decide to go—” Valencia pauses, looking over at Rebecca with a wince. “—within the month.”

“We _need_ to keep each other in the loop on these things,” Paula says.

“What’s, uh.” Rebecca swallows. “What’s the deciding factor?”

“Well,” Valencia says, “a lot, kinda. I don’t know if I want to live in New York. Maybe I’d prefer to move somewhere good for the business that’s within a reasonable commute to West Covina. Like, say, Los Angeles.”

“So it’s a business decision?” Paula asks.

“Not entirely.” The all sit patiently, waiting for her to elaborate. Valencia sighs. “There’s also the question of if I actually want to move across the country with Beth. That’s, like, huge, and if someone was making that kind of commitment for me, I’d want them to be sure.”

“Beth’s going no matter what,” Heather explains.

Paula and Rebecca both grunt their understanding.

“It’s just,” Valencia says, staring down into her nearly empty glass, “Beth’s the only woman I’ve ever dated…and Josh was the only man I ever dated.”

“Ah,” Paula says.

“And when that was over,” Valencia continues, still not really looking at them, “I felt like I wasted so much time. I don’t want to be the same idiot who goes all in just because they’re afraid of losing something they don’t think they’ll find again. And I definitely don’t want to waste anyone else’s time.”

Rebecca _hmms_. “Have you let Beth know you’re feeling conflicted?”

“She knows,” Valencia says, and they all blink at her. “Come on, she has to know! I’ve barely packed anything.”

“You should probably still talk to her, dude,” Heather says. “And if you feel like you can’t, well…you can probably infer the wisdom I’d drop here. I’m too tipsy to be eloquent right now.”

“Fine,” Valencia says, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “You’re right.”

“New York, huh?” Paula says after a second of silence

“That’s a big deal,” Rebecca agrees.

“This calls for some commiserbation,” Paula says.

When Heather and Valencia give her a funny look, Rebecca says, “Commiseration and celebration all rolled into one.”

“More wine,” Paula decides, groaning as she pushes to her feet.

“I’d miss you a lot,” Rebecca says to Valencia when Heather gets up to follow Paula into the kitchen. “I mean, of course I’d cheer you on if you decided to go—I’d have custom pom-poms made and everything—but I thought you should know. We’d feel the loss here.”

Valencia just looks at her for a moment, eyes shimmering in the candlelight, but then she tosses back her hair and says simply, “I know.”

Rebecca grins. “And, you know, if you ever want to test out the theory that you need to sow your wild oats with other women, I know a girl who’s itching to prove that kissing her doesn’t always incite a public meltdown that ends with everyone storming out of the nightclub.”

“Oh, my god,” Valencia says, getting to her feet and making her way toward the kitchen.

“I’m a good kisser!” Rebecca calls after her. “That’s all I’m saying!”

“We’ve heard,” Paula says.

“Because you brag about it constantly,” Heather tacks on.

“I wouldn’t have to brag if you guys just let me prove it to you.”

The chorus of groans she gets in response makes Rebecca laugh.

###

She wakes up to the smell of something sweet.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Paula greets her. “Get in here. Heather made French toast.”

“It smells amazing,” Rebecca says, sitting up on the couch. Her back protests and she pulls a face.

“Thank you,” Heather says, putting down a third plate on the table.

“The power came back on, then?” Rebecca asks.

Heather nods as she returns to the stove.

“Sleep well?” Valencia asks, shooting her a significant look.

Rebecca freezes. “Hey!”

“No screaming,” Heather says.

“I slept all the way through the night, not a single nightmare,” Rebecca says, hopping up off the couch, her back be damned. “Next stop: taking over the whole freaking world!”

“Maybe start with the French toast,” Paula says with a smile, nodding at the plate.

More than happy to oblige, Rebecca pulls out a chair and tucks in.

“We should celebrate,” she says around a full mouth. “Who’s free?”

“I’m up for anything,” Paula says automatically.

“Shocker,” Heather says, throwing a teasing smile over her shoulder. “I, unfortunately, have to work.”

“I could spare a couple hours,” Valencia says after checking with her phone.

“Should we follow Heather to all her Home Bases?” Rebecca suggests.

“Alright, give me back the toast,” Heather says. “Your privileges have been revoked.”

Rebecca curls her arms protectively around her plate. “I’ll do the cleanup.”

Heather holds up her hands in surrender.

After a second of consideration, Rebecca says, “Let’s go to Raging Waters.”

Valencia frowns. “Gross.”

“I thought you were saving your first time for a special someone,” Paula says, gaping at Rebecca like she’s suggested they cut off a limb.

“You guys are my special someones,” Rebecca says.

“Sweet,” Valencia says, “but I’m still not going to that grody water park with you.”

“Not even if I promise not to try kissing you even once?” Rebecca asks, clasping her hands under her chin and pouting out her lip.

Valencia shakes her head, but a smile threatens to illuminate her face.

“Throw in all the magazines I’d need to be entertained for the day, and I’ll consider it.”

“Done.”

Heather frowns as she takes her seat at the table. “If this is really happening, I’m kinda tempted to call in sick.”

Rebecca makes an excited noise in the back of her throat.

“I think this is really happening,” Paula says.

“I am the boss, so.” Heather shrugs. “I guess whiny customers’ meals will have to comp themselves for the day.”

Rebecca sits back, smiling as Paula discusses snacks and Valencia offers advice on which rides they really need to get in while on the trip.

She’d never thought it would feel so comforting, throwing out a carefully laid plan twelve years in the making to have the most romantic day of her life, but here she is.

Fate is tricky that way, she decides. And then she stops thinking about it altogether, mind turning to whether or not her and Heather have any sunscreen in the house.


End file.
